Mustang Monologues
by Alima8314
Summary: Working title. Someone to Turn to Universe. Roy has a secret that he used to share with two other people. Now he only shares it with one. But, he is about to share it with another. Chapter 1 is a prologue of sort. Rated for future chapters. RxE


**The Mustang Monologues **_(working title) _

**Chapter 1**

**- The Morning After -

* * *

******

A/N: Pre-series. Mangaverse. Roy POV.  
I have no idea where this came from, it just fell out of my pen the other day when I was at work waiting for calls. I took a chapter from _Random Ficlets_ and made it a stand alone story here. The reason for this is because a continuing plot for this story is running around inside my head.

* * *

A bright ray of sunlight peeked through my curtains, assaulting my eyelids. I shifted, getting out of the light, before sitting up slowly and turning my spotty gaze toward the clock on my dresser. Eleven A.M. came far too early. I groaned, letting myself fall back against my pillows. Big mistake. The impact made my brain rattle in my skull, and I fought the urge to throw up. Our graduation from the military academy was yesterday, so luckily I had today off, and could nurse my hangover.

Sighing ruefully, I dragged myself out of bed, cursing my best friend, Mäes, mentally for the pounding in my head. It's his fault I feel this bad, forcing me to go to the graduation party his girlfriend, Gracia, had thrown for us and a few friends in celebration of our making it out of the academy alive. I told him I didn't want to go, but he insisted, stating I was almost seventeen and needed to find myself a nice girlfriend.

In the end, I didn't hook up with anyone, most of the girls were vapid, and the only reasonably intelligent female in the group was already taken. Oh, I wanted them both... But, Mäes and Gracia only had eyes for each other. They were both attractive, and I found my heart wrenching every time they kissed in front of me. I couldn't let them know how I felt about them. I don't know how they'd react. The remaining company was boring, so I got drunk to pass time. I think I may have tied a few too many last night. I don't even remember getting back to my efficiency apartment last night, or was it early this morning? Everyone at the party had gotten pretty sauced, so I doubt I let anyone drive me home, not that many of us had cars of our own, anyway.

I stumbled stupidly toward the bathroom, where I pawed at the medicine cabinet door. Once I swung the door open, various bottles spilled out, some landing in the sink, others skittering across the counter, and a few rolling to the floor. "Shit," I muttered. The clatter worsened my headache.

Pressing a palm to my temple, I dug through the small bottles until I found the one I was looking for. I tore off the lid, which slipped from my grip and fell to the floor, rolling somewhere behind the toilet. Shrugging, I poured several large white pills into my hand, replacing all but three before clumsily setting the open container on the counter. I blinked at the white tablets, thinking vaguely of how much they looked like candy. I shrugged again and threw my head back, tossing the pills down my throat.

I gagged on the acidic taste when one stuck at the back of my throat. I quickly turned on the cold tap, thrusting my hands under the water, filling them and bringing them to my lips. I sucked down a couple handfuls of water, trying to force the pills down my gullet. I mentally kicked myself after my desperation passed; the sudden movements only helped to increase the throbbing in my head.

I stared at the running water, fearing momentarily for the bottles I had left in the sink, but I figured that, as long as the seals held, their contents should remain safe. As I watched the water, I realized how thirsty I was. I bent down and filled my cupped hands once more, bringing them to my mouth, slowly swallowing the liquid. After I slaked my thirst, I filled my hands one final time and splashed my face with the cold water, scrubbing vigorously to further wake myself.

With one hand still covering my face, I groped wildly behind myself for the towel I knew was there. Wrapping my hand around the terrycloth, I brought it to my face and gently patted the moisture away. I kept my face buried in the soft cloth, breathing in the faint flowery scent of the detergent. I lowered the towel and set it on the counter, sighing as I began to pick up and replace the bottles in the medicine cabinet. The ones that had fallen to the floor could stay there for now, as I was not in any position to be leaning over. Doing so might make me sick. After replacing what I do could, I carefully closed the mirrored door and gazed at my haggard reflection, running damp, shaky fingers through my unruly black mane. "Damn, that's some bad bed head you got there, Roy," I told my reflection.

My face was sallow, but the skin around my eyes was dark, and I had huge bags hanging under them. I couldn't go out like this. I couldn't go out anyway, not feeling as badly as I did. I took a deep breath, thinking about how I should be get something to eat. If last night's overdose of alcohol hadn't made me sick this morning, taking a handful of pain pills would. I let out my breath slowly and staggered toward my tiny kitchenette, which barely had enough room for me turn in, and reached into my small icebox for a loaf of bread and jar of raspberry preserves. Though I was nauseous, I knew I needed to eat something to slow the absorption time of the pills I just downed, and help keep my stomach from bleeding because of the overdose.

I straightened and dropped the food on my small table. It was the only table I could find that would fit in my tiny quarters, and it was also the only thing I could afford on the pitiful allowance the state told us was our salary. It was about three feet tall, had a round glass tabletop, approximately two feet in diameter, and slim metal legs, painted white. My table was a cute little thing, actually, and I was very proud of it, being one of the first few pieces of furniture I had bought by myself.

I turned to grab a knife from the drawer so I could prepare myself a small meal of toast and jam. I leaned over and turned the knob on the stove, watching the flame with rapt fascination once it caught. Shaking my head to break the trance the flame had me in, I placed a skillet over it. I sighed, remembering how I had always been drawn to fire, much like the proverbial moth, even as a child. This enchantment had gotten me in trouble often in my youth, when I would play with my father's matches or the ornate lighter my mother kept at the bar. I chuckled as I stretched my arm, reaching for the butter before remembering I had forgotten to take it from the icebox as well. I growled as I ripped the door open again and yanked the butter tray out. '_What a great morning..._' I thought sarcastically, setting the dish down and taking a plate from my dish rack.

I lightly buttered a couple slices of bread before placing them in the warm skillet. "Damn it," I said to no one in particular as I pulled open the drawer once more for a spatula. I flipped the bread, letting it brown on each side for about a minute. After my toast was done, I turned off the stove and slid the slices onto my plate, turning to set it on the table.

I pulled a stool over to the table and sat on the cushion, sighing as I looked around my shabby quarters. I dreamt of the day I would be a great State Alchemist, making enough money to afford all the things I wanted in life. I had always had a talent for alchemy, and now that I was out of the academy, I could pursue my dream. I had confided my fixation with fire and the dream it inspired to Mäes last night, and he had understood me better than my own parents had. I wanted to be an alchemist to help people, and my parents, the good religious people they were, had kicked me out when I told them about my ambition. "How could you turn your back God?" they had asked me.

I smiled, remembering my response. "God's an asshole! If God is so great, why does he let down the people who need him the most? Why is it only rich people have God's favor?" They kicked me out after that explosion, and left me to fend for myself.

Shifting to get more comfortable on the stool, I picked up the knife, digging into the raspberry goo, trying to get enough to spread on the tastefully burnt bread before me. The pounding in my head had lessened, thank the powers that be for pain pills. I figured I was still going to kill Maes over this, but that would wait until later. Right now, I had a hangover to get rid of, and he was probably too busy being with Gracia, anyway. I tried to not let my jealousy get the better of me. I shook my head to disperse the negative thoughts and finished my meager breakfast. I placed my plate in the sink when I was done and shuffled back to my bed. I still needed some sleep to get rid of this headache.


End file.
